Le vieux piano

An old piano's dead
And she loved it…
When she was young and would get drunk on the pathetic
Rubbing against that nostalgic piano
How beautiful it was, the piano, good piano, old piano of friends
Back in the days of friends
At Bianco's place
Around three in the morning
When she drank her half of forgetfulness…
And now alone
She thinks of the living
Of that old dead piano
She sees, she hears
The masses of her twenties
Falling from a chord…
At the bar, when she drinks
It's true she sees again
Hands on the white ivory
Bianco's hands
Hands that gift her
A bit of the old times
But in her jeans
A ghost in blue jeans
One, then twenty
Who chat like friends
In a retro bistro
Of an outdated piano
She shouted: "I know! I know!"
She's going to tell
The story locked away
In the old dead piano
And it's the adventure
That beats the measure
Louder and louder
In the light of life
The hands of friends
The eyes of tomorrows
Life ahead of us
Love, and then everything
And everything, and nothing left…
They're all dead
In the middle of a chord
They died in Ravel
In a strange rainbow
A soldier walked in...
A soldier walked in...
An old piano's dead, and she loved it
When she was young and would get drunk on the pathetic
Rubbing against that nostalgic piano…